


Crystal Visions

by palateens



Series: It Really Ain't That Bad [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, M/M, Medium Tweek, Multi, Non-binary Kenny, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Butters, Trans Female Character, i guess, peruvian craig, since they barely age on the show, well half peruvian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't enough that Craig Tucker has to balance school, family, friends, and two significant others. Now he has a mystical destiny that's come back to bite him in the ass. Fucking perfect. </p><p>Meanwhile, Kyle tries to prove Cartman doesn't know social media. Butters searches for the meaning of love. Clyde tries to get a grip. And Red wonders why she lets her cousin talk her into covering his shifts. (Along with a host of other side plots that are sure to balance out the paranormal angst.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here We Go (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig finds out that his significant others have been keeping a big secret from him. Later, somethings never change. Including Kyle's temper and Cartman's ability to turn anything into a competition. Note: there's Spanish in this chapter, check end notes for translations.

_The second Tweek sees the light, he bolts for the closet. Slamming the door just in time. He expects to hear some sort of boom or whoosh. Any sort of sound to indicate the vastness of the explosion he nearly became a part of. He curses to himself silently. He’ll have to apologize to Kenny later for not following their instructions better. When the light fades a few minutes later, Tweek counts to sixty. It’s something Kenny told him a long time ago about how to wait out threats. Once he ascertains that it’s safe enough, he stands up inch by inch. He slides the closet door open softly. Walking out, he tries to take in the entire room at once, checking for damage. Nothing seems different until his eyes find Craig’s. They’re blinded in tears, although still ajar. Tweek only then notices the sight of Kenny’s limp body cradled in Craig’s arms._

  
_Craig Tucker is sixteen years old the first time he kills Kenny. And he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this hell._

  
He’s stuck in an emotional purgatory. Heart ripped from his chest by the nerve endings. At the same time, the thought of Tweek standing there, witness to this cruel murder. The worst part is that Kenny did nothing to deserve this. They were just trying to help Craig. And in the end they probably saved him and Tweek both. Craig can’t tell whether he’s weeping or holding back vomit. His entire body is shaking.

  
Somehow, though he doesn’t feel completely alone. Even before he feels Tweek’s arms snake around his quivering shoulders, there was an eerie calmness to the space as weak energy continues to vibrate out of him. Craig flinches slightly at the touch, but his boyfriend loosens his hold a bit.

  
“Babe,” Tweek murmurs hoarsely.

  
The older whispers apologies, half-formed but fervent. Most of it is gibberish, even to Tweek who’s fluent in Craig.

  
“Are you hurt?” The blond interrupts, each word annunciated as if one slip of the tongue would send his boyfriend spiraling further.

  
Craig tries to form a response. The words get so lodged in his throat, he’s forced to cough to relieve the tension. Instead, he shakes his head frantically.

  
Tweek perks up, turning away from Craig for a moment. If Craig could think clearly, he’d question what has caught the younger’s attention. Tweek shakes the moment off easily, grinning momentarily before inquiring, “are you still in pain?”

  
Craig doesn’t understand why he isn’t angry. He should be furious, or fleeing the scene of the crime. Tweek should be screaming that he hates Craig and never wants to see him again. Why isn’t he? Does he really love Craig that much that he’ll just disregard their other half is dead in his arms? Craig shakes his head furiously, and cries harder.

  
“Oh Craig,” Tweek’s grip around him tightens. “It’s not your fault,” he kisses the other teen’s forehead.

  
“Of course it is,” Craig moans, burying his head into Kenny’s hair. “Don’t be dumb for my sake.”

  
Tweek pushes his boyfriend back into a sitting position. Picks Kenny’s lifeless body up and places it gently on the ground. Their clothes and still warm body look too vibrant against the purple carpet. The calmness Tweek poses as he arranges them is disturbing to Craig.

  
He’s eating himself away with guilt. “Why don’t you hate me?”

  
Tweek sighs, rising away from the corpse. The hardened stare he levels Craig with would be enough to make anyone shit their pants on a normal day.

  
“Because I know this was an accident. Here, give me your hands,” Tweek clasps their hands together, cradling the taller’s in his. “Listen to me Craig—life is shit. Shit just happens alright? If you waste even a minute beating yourself up about something that you can’t control, you’ll be wasting the best thing life has to offer…”

  
“Your free will,” an airy voice supplies in Craig’s right ear.

  
For a moment, Craig thinks that’s what his conscious sounds like. Then he realizes that his conscious is made up of thoughts, not sounds. He instinctively looks over to see the source of the words. His eyes find an ethereal Kenny looking at him intently. He screams, at Kenny’s face. Kenny flinches, and it’s pretty realistic considering this is a hallucination. Craig screams harder.

  
Tweek takes his hands back to cover his ears. The image Craig has of Kenny fades. “Fuck, what’s wrong?” the platinum blond whimpers.

  
Craig decides that this must be what insanity feels like. “K-Ken-enny was just there.” He manages to point to Kenny’s exact spot on the bed. “Fuck,” Craig begins to tear up again, “they looked so real.”

  
Tweek stares at the spot. Once again, he’s fixated intensely on seemingly noting. “Shit, Craig we’re gonna try something. Trust me and for the love of everything that is holy, don’t scream again.”

  
Craig, still shaken, accepts with a small nod. Tweek takes his hands again. Craig shuts his eyelids, unsure and frightened but reveling in Tweek’s touch. In humanity.

  
“Ok, now say something,” Tweek says.

  
Craig pops one eye open, bewildered. “Like what?”

  
Tweek rolls his eyes in aggravation. “No not you,” the younger clarifies.

  
“He means me, babe,” the voice comes back.

  
Craig looks over to Kenny’s ghostly form again, and then down to the real Kenny on the floor. He’s fighting every urge to scream because Tweek told him not to. But, man, it's fucking hard. His fear, however, is apparent from the sweat on his brow.

  
“He can see you alright,” Tweek concludes to Kenny.

  
Kenny grins. “It’s gotta be you, Tweekers. Aw, who’s my favorite connection to the spirit world?” They make kissy faces to Tweek.

  
Something about the normalcy of this interaction sets Craig off. “The spiri—what the actual fuck. How are you not dead right now?”

  
His words sober Kenny up. They try to put a hand on the older’s shoulder only to have it pass through half of his body. “Craig, I am dead,” they explain.

  
Craig balks at them. “No, that’s not possible. We’re talking right now, and Tweek clearly understands what’s going on. Which means you’ve been lying to me about something so spill. Now.”

  
Kenny sighs, rubbing their temples. “You have a point.”

  
“What if he just forgets?” Tweek protests.

  
Kenny shakes their head, there’s no use debating the matter. “Doesn’t matter, we’re in this together.” They turn to face the raven haired teen again. “Ok sweetums, I can’t die. Well, I can. But it’s physically impossible for me to stay that way.”

  
“How?”

  
“Our best guess is that Kenny’s parents used to go to these cult meetings before they were born. That must’ve done something.” Tweek supplies, releasing one of his hands from Craig’s vice grip.

  
Craig glares at Tweek for the loss of contact, but does nothing to remedy it. “And how do you know about this?”

  
“I can see dead people, duh.” Tweek jokes, to which Kenny gives him an encouraging smile.

  
Craig mulls over the situation for a moment. A thousand ideas flood him. The first he can articulate is, “what about the underpants gnomes?”

  
“Those are real. Tweek’s seen a lot of shit,” Kenny comments.

  
“But not as much as Kenny.” The other blond counters.

  
“Ok,” Craig takes a deep breath, repressing yet another scream. “I want the story. The whole story, everything from the beginning.”

  
Tweek frowns at the implication of such a discussion. “But—”

  
Craig cuts him off, “and don’t leave out any details. Either of you.”

  
So the two proceed to tell their boyfriend everything. Cthulhu, heaven, hell, even Damien and every death Kenny’s experienced to date. There was a lot for Craig to process. Most of the deaths, he could ascertain, were bizarre and one-in-a-million accidents. Like the time Wendy shot Kenny while fighting with Bebe; or the time they died of seizures from watching Chinpokomon; and they even spontaneously combusted one time. Craig vaguely remembers South Park going mental over whether or not to fart.

  
While sorting through all this information, he can’t shake one implication to their story. “Wait, so you’ve died since we started dating."

  
“Yes,” his significant others say in unison.

  
“How many times,” it’s more of a demand than a question judging by the intonation in Craig's voice.

  
Kenny counts on their fingers, grimacing slightly. “Twenty-five times? Just about.”

  
“That sounds right,” Tweek agrees.

  
Craig’s expression is morose. “And you hid this from me, the entire time.”

  
Kenny won’t meet his eyes, ashamed of themselves for ever lying to someone they love. Tweek reaches over and attempts to pat their hand reassuringly. It seems to catch something for a nanosecond only to phase through completely.

  
“How? Why?” The raven haired teen presses, “don’t you trust me?”

  
Kenny glares at him indignantly. “Of course I trust you! Haven’t you been listening?” They try to shake Craig harshly, failing. They sigh pitifully, “no one remembers when I die. This isn’t the first time I’ve died in front of you.”

  
Craig’s nostrils flare, the sound of Ruby’s stereo blaring tween hits distracts him momentarily. His family must be home. “But have you actually died in front of me since we started dating?”

  
Kenny bites their lip while Tweek scratches his head. Their eyes meet, silently recounting to each other. If Craig ever doubted those two being together, that doubt went up in flames with Kenny’s body.

  
“Fuck, Tweek. Craig,” Kenny points frantically to Tweek who won’t stop digging into his scalp.

  
“Babe, no,” Craig offers his free hand, Tweek reluctantly lets him take it, squeezing it reassuringly. “Now back to my question.”

  
“Honestly?” Tweek thinks out loud. “I can’t remember you dying in front of Craig in the last five years, Ken.”

  
“Ha,” Craig smirks.

  
“Ha?” Kenny pouts.

  
“Ha, you can’t prove that I won’t remember this tomorrow. This is basically new territory,” Craig leans backwards, head bouncing off the old springs in his mattress. The flannel sheets he never bothered to change out scratch the back of his neck. He realizes that he’s no longer holding Tweek’s hands, but there’s Kenny still clear as day. It makes him smile for the first time today.

  
Kenny leans over his face. Craig wishes he could lean up and kiss their stupid face right now. “I hope you’re right, babe. Got any other questions?”

  
Their face is only centimeters away from his. Kenny’s eyes are as beautiful as that first day in the library when they were eleven. Craig thinks he’s gonna wake up tomorrow morning and never let Kenny go again. If only it were that simple. “Where do you go?”

  
“Hell, mostly,” Kenny recites like a fucking elevator pitch.

  
“No, I mean before that.” Craig elaborates, “when you’re just…dead. Like right now.”

  
Tweek cuddles against Craig’s other side. “They come find me. We’re a package deal.”

  
“So what, every time you covered for them, Kenny was—”

  
“Dead,” Kenny singsongs.

  
He turns to Tweek, “so that time we fucked on Kenny’s bed—”

  
“They were there,” the blond confirms.

  
“And you know about the time in the movie theatre,” Craig assumes.

  
“When you sucked Tweek off during that horror flick?” Kenny chuckles, “yea I never got to tell you how fucking smart that was.”

  
Craig blushes, causing Kenny to coo adoringly at him. Craig clears his throat, “what do we do now?”

  
Tweek shrugs, “hang out, for now. But we still need to figure out whatever that was.”

  
“You mean how I went off like a fucking bomb.”

  
“Exactly,” Kenny confirms.

  
“So that was weird for you too, huh?” Craig chuckles nervously.

  
“Pretty much, it looked familiar though…” Kenny’s voice trails off.

  
Tweek looks over at Kenny, concerned, “f-familiar how?”

  
“Déjà vu, I feel like I’ve seen Craig go berserk with blue light before.”

  
Craig’s mind lags for a moment, then the memory of giant Guinea pigs hits him like a ton bricks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

  
“What?” Tweek bites his lip, but not hard enough to draw blood.

  
“Kenny it was your fucking Peruvian pan flute scheme. Remember that?”

  
Kenny stares at him blankly, gasping when the realization strikes them as well. “You were the chosen one!”

  
“The chosen one,” Tweek deadpans.

  
“That one time Kenny and their asshole friends asked me to hang out when we were kids. It was so they could take my birthday money for a Peruvian pan flute band those idiots thought would make a fucking profit,” Craig explains.

  
Tweek tilts his head to the side, the motion every bit as condescending as Craig would do it if he were in Tweek’s position. “Why did you even agree to that?”

  
“Those assholes wore me down,” he admits. “And I thought they it was stupid for them to have a Peruvian pan flute band with no Peruvians in it.”

  
Kenny’s jaw drops, the thought hadn’t occurred to them before. “Oh…shit that would’ve been a smart idea. Ask the only Peruvian kid in town to join our band instead of going after his money.”

  
“Told you,” he snorts, “idiots. Oh god, I almost forgot how much you loved that music.”

  
“Well maybe I just loved you,” Kenny flirts.

  
“Dork,” Craig smirks triumphantly.

  
“At least that gives me somewhere to start looking,” Kenny assures their boyfriends. Just then a chill permeates the room, biting down on the boys’ very cores.

  
Kenny sighs in defeat. They climb off the bed and head towards the bedroom door. “And I think that’s my cue. I’ll be back when I can.”

  
“Say hi to Pip from me,” Tweek requests.

  
“Love you, Ken,” Craig adds, once again feeling powerless.

  
“Love you both,” Kenny waves.

  
They walk through the door, not looking back. It’s probably for the best because as soon as they door, Craig curls himself into a fetal position. Tweek, distraught over his boyfriend’s wellbeing holds him closer. Attempting to shield him from the loss Craig’s probably experiencing.

  
“Does it always hurt?” Craig croaks, “seeing them go?”

  
“Don’t tell them, but yea. All the time.” Tweek confesses.

  
“You think I’ll remember in the morning?” He wants to beg Tweek to make up some pretty lie. To let him have some sort of relief in this twisted reality.

  
“I hope so,” is all that Tweek can truthfully muster. It’s good enough for Craig.

  
A long silence falls over them. Tweek tries, again, to keep Craig together. “But hey, let’s not worry about that right now. How about we see if your mom is making dinner?”

  
Craig nods, chuckling a little at the role reversal. But hey, Tweek’s one of the strongest and most protective people he knows. “It’s supposed to be lomo saltado tonight,” he tells Tweek feigning cheerfulness.

  
Tweek smiles, helping Craig off the bed and towards the door, mindful of the dead body still on the floor. “Kenny’s gonna be pissed they missed out.”

  
Craig thinks of course they will. But then again, them being pissed means they’ll be around. Which is all that really matters to him right now.

  
“They’ll get over it.”

* * *

 

A few weeks later finds Kenny, Tweek, and Craig in a much more normal setting, lunch. It’s junior year of high school; and while their futures are still uncertain, some things never change.  The cafeteria, much like the one they had in South Park Elementary, was dingy due to funding. The wooden benches were relatively new—five years old to be precise—and made up for lack of comfort with ample sitting room. The white brick walls were smattered with posters about school conduct and how to reach your potential. Out of all of them, Kyle was the most likely to skim any of their contents for something of value. There’s an acrid stench of cleaner and mac n’ cheese, equal parts sterile and moldy, wafting through the room. The school has two lunch periods, leaving the upperclassmen to take the later.

As usual, Tweek and his friends have claimed a table on the east side of the cafeteria, closest to the window that doesn’t have a dumpster in front of it. There isn’t much to see except for the gym class that’s learning softball this week. But hey, a view’s a view. Tweek’s currently sitting between Butters and Kenny, blending out concealer under Kenny’s eyes. On the other side of Kenny is Kyle and Stan. Kyle’s lecturing Stan on good homework habits while he scrambles to finish trig homework (again).

Across the table, Craig’s making moon eyes at both him and Kenny. Craig’s still pretends he smokes in his off period when he really stinks from tutoring Henrietta during fourth period. But no one else needs to know that. David approaches the table. He pecks his boyfriends, Kyle and Stan, on the cheek and sits down next to Stan. The two intertwine their hands, more prone to public displays of affection than Kyle.

David amicably greets his friends. “¿Que onda gueys?”

Craig turns away from watching Tweek work. “No mucho, pata.”

“¿Y que hacen acá?” David gestures to Tweek and Kenny.

“Estoy ayudando Tweek con sus dotes de maquillar,” Butters answers. Then doubting herself, blushes and asks, “did I say that right?”

 David pulls out his lunch while contemplating out loud, “I think you mean técnicas para maquillarse, but don’t sweat it, Mantequilla.”  

“Well, uh, muchas gracias.” She grabs Tweek’s wrist and adjusts the brush he’s using to apply Kenny’s contour.

“Y soy su muñeco para practicar,” Kenny adds jokingly.

Tweek frowns in response, admonishing Kenny. “No mames, cariñe.”

Stan sighs heavily, resting his chin in his hands as he finishes his homework. “I’ve got to practice my Spanish.”

“Lo siento, amor,” David leans against Stan affectionately. “Need me to traducir?”

Stan stuffs his homework in his backpack. “Nah, I can keep up alright. I’m just shit at contributing anything.”

Kyle rolls his eyes at his boyfriend. It’s filled with affection, however. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, you can still enjoy the best part.”

Upon hearing this, Kenny perks up. “¿Oye, vamos hacerle otra broma al gordo?”

“Pe, claro que sí,” Craig replies.

“Se dice pues, hombre,” David protests, not for the first time since they became friends.  

“Pe,” Craig insists.

“Pues.”

“Pe.” 

“Ok you’re both right now stop,” Kyle talks over the roaring chatter of the cafeteria. “Stan—”

“On it,” Stan scrolls through his phone. He licks his lips while browsing. “Um Frikitona, Gasolina or Rakata?”

“El tercero,” David selects.

Two boys approaching catch Kenny’s attention from the corner of their vision. “People, Cartman is approaching,” they alert the others.

Everyone, minus Tweek who’s still working on Kenny, pulls out their phones.

Despite blending out a dark eyeshadow on Kenny’s lid, Tweek still cheerfully waves his friend over, “Clyde!”

Clyde cuts short his conversation with Eric to sit down next to Craig. “Hey guys. Sweet look Kenny.”

Kenny turns away from Tweek to wink at Clyde, “thanks, man.”

“Hey David,” Craig pipes up. “Sabes que si no estas bailando con ella.”

“Si no estas perreando con ella,” David adds.

“Si se me pega voy a darle,” Kyle fights back a chuckle.

“You assholes better not be talking about me in Spanish,” Eric growls.

Stan raises his eyebrows at Cartman. “Didn’t you used to know more Spanish?”

“It interfered with my shop class,” he explains with pink cheeks. “Wasn’t about to drop that for some gay language.”

“Esta noche quiero hacerle,” Kenny taunts.

“No trates de apagarme,” Butters takes a large bite out of her apple.

Eric’s eye twitches, rage threatening to boil over. “Ok seriously, you can stop it now. Whatever you have to say you can say in English.”

Stan ignores his pleas, nuzzling Kyle’s jaw before saying, “tiene veinte enemigas y dos amigas.”

Kyle beams down at Stan, murmuring loud enough for Eric to hear, “una pantalla en la barriga.”

Craig grabs Kenny’s attention to add “el culipandeo ella mata la liga.”

“Siga,” Kenny retorts as Tweek does their eyebrows.

Eric slams his head against the table, nearly missing the tater tots on his tray. “Clyde!”

“I told you not to drop Spanish,” Clyde absently sniffs his tuna salad sandwhich.

Cartman clenches his fists, “fuck you Clyde, and screw you guys.”

 “Let me guess, you’re going home?” Kenny chances.

“Son of a bitch, Kenny,” he curses. “I’m grabbing fucking mustard for this sandwich.”

Kenny waves him off smugly, “and bring back a sense of humor!”

Token takes that moment to join the group on the other side of Craig. “You guys reciting lyrics in Spanish and pretending it’s a conversation again?”

“What else would bring us so much joy,” Craig asks rhetorically.

“Alright if we’re done with that nonsense…” Eric reasserts himself as the focus of conversation. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Tweek, what are you doing to Kenny?”

“Hush, Eric,” Butters waves him off. “Tweek wanted to learn some makeup tips and I needed practice explaining stuff for my channel.”

Cartman groans unnecessarily loud. “Alright I’ll bite. Your channel, Butters?”

“I told you back in March that I was starting a YouTube channel.”

“Oh right,” Eric mutters through the food in his mouth. “That ‘beauty guru’ shit you were rambling on about last week. What do you have so far? A hundred followers?”

“It just so happens that Butters has already broken five hundred thousand subscribers,” Kyle huffs.

“For what? Putting makeup on himself?” the brunet chortles.

Butters grimaces. “I’ve warned you twice this week about pronouns, Eric.”

“I can beat him up for you,” Kenny offers, cracking their knuckles in eager anticipation.

“Fine, fine, herself,” Eric backs off. “No offense Butters, but even as a chick, how the fuck did you get five hundred thousand followers in six months?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Kyle counters, leaning across the table to get in Cartman’s face. “She worked very hard and her content shows that.”

Eric shrugs, unaffected by Kyle’s bravado. “I’m just saying, what has happened to the quality of YouTube?”

“Nothing,” Butters insists. “There’s enough room for all sorts of channels. Weren’t you YouTube famous at one point?”

“Hardly,” he humble-brags. “And that was years ago. I’d be ten times more famous now.”

“Bullshit,” Kyle quirks a brow. “No one wants to hear the dribble you can come up with.”

A devilish smirk creeps on Eric’s face. “Care to make a wager, Kyle?”

The table visibly tenses. No one likes when Eric and Kyle make a bet. It usually involves everyone being roped into their chaos. Stan and David eye each other worriedly. Tweek and Butters pretend they’re having their own conversation while Token flat out ignores them. Craig tries to get Clyde to stop crushing his arm in terror.

“Kyle,” Stan tries to sound commanding. Really, he’s a sucker for letting the redhead do whatever he wants.

“Mi rey,” David pleads quietly.

“Hush both of you,” Kyle disregards, not taking his glare off of Cartman. “What sort of wager?”

Eric grins like a Cheshire cat. “Simple, we both start channels. Whoever has more followers by the end of the school year wins.”

“Wins what,” Kyle demands.

“The opportunity to pick the other’s first tattoo.”

“Absolutely not,” David interrupts.

“No wait,” Kyle protests to his boyfriend. “This could be interesting…”

As Kyle mulls over Cartman’s wager, Wendy and Red walk by the table on their way to their own friend group. Wendy noticing the strain between Eric and Kyle stops to ask Stan, “are they making another stupid bet?”

“Yup,” Stan takes a swig of his soda.

“What’s at stake,” Red inquires.

“Tattoo rights,” Kenny supplies.  

Red gawks, “oh you can’t say no to that.”

“Not helping,” Stan growls.

“Never said I was here to help,” Red huffs, sauntering off.  

Wendy rolls her eyes, before addressing Butters “Marji, color guard practice got moved back to 4pm today.”

“Thanks, Wendy,” she half-smiles.

“Fine,” Kyle startles all of them.

“Kyle, no,” David and Stan plead.

The redhead ignores them, “you’ve got a deal.”

Eric jumps out of his seat triumphantly. “Yes! It’s time to pull out the old Cartman-brah.”

“Hold on, jackass, you can’t use that shtick again.” Kyle snaps.

“Why the fuck not,” he stammers.

“You already had followers on that channel. You’ll be ahead in numbers before we even start.”

“So?”

“Kyle’s got a point,” Kenny argues.

“Well, let’s leave this up to an impartial judge. Clyde!”

“I’m with Kyle on this one,” the teen defers. “You can’t double dip for a bet.”

“Goddammit, fine. I will try something new.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿Que onda gueys? - What's up guys  
> No mucho, pata - Not much dude  
> ¿Y que hacen acá? - And what's up here  
> Estoy ayudando Tweek con sus dotes de maquillar/técnicas para maquillarse - I'm helping Tweek with his makeup skills  
> muchas gracias - thanks  
> Y soy su muñeco para practicar - And I'm his practice dummy  
> No mames, cariñe - Don't be ridiculous sweetie (note the word cariñe is from cariño but switching an o/a to an e is one of the many ways to make words gender neutral in Spanish)  
> Lo siento, amor - I'm sorry love  
> traducir - translate  
> ¿Oye, vamos hacerle otra broma al gordo? - Hey are we gonna prank fatass again?  
> Pe, claro que sí - Well of course  
> Pe/Pues - well (same word, different countries)  
> Se dice pues, hombre - It's pues, man  
> Frikitona, Gasolina or Rakata - the names of reggaeton songs (they're all pretty fun, you should take a listen sometime)  
> El tercero - the third  
> The rest are lines from Rakata 
> 
> Sorry for my grammar if it sucks to high-hell. Spanish is my first language but I wasn't taught it in school until secondary.  
> Also Wendy calls Butters Margi at one point. It's short for Marjarine. Butters has her own subplot that we'll get to later but I wanted to clear that up for anyone.  
> This chapter took longer than expected to put up. I might only do a chapter a week from now on, but they'll be quality.


	2. You Want Your Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy decides it's time for a change. Later, Marjorine doesn't let boys get away with pretending to be men. (And if you squint, Craig's in this chapter.)

Here’s the thing about relationships in South Park, they suck. In a town as small as hers, Wendy knows everything about everyone. Whether she cares or not; and unfortunately that goes both ways. Rumors spread like wildfire and your reputation follows you closer than your shadow. She and Stan broke up, for good, in the 7th grade. And for once, it wasn’t her who initiated it—that was all Stan. He’d been pretty kind and apologetic about the whole thing. Going as far as to say that it wasn’t fair to Wendy that he was emotionally unavailable when she’d been so patient and understanding with him. That doesn’t, however, mean she was exempt from a few months’ worth of jibes about her ‘turning Stan gay’ from older hicks like Skeeter and his goons.

Honestly, it was bound to happen at some point. Stanley Marsh may be bisexual, but he was never attracted to Wendy. Which on days like this, she’s thankful for. Stan had become one of her best friends in high school. Their effort to keep the school literary magazine alive bonded them. He’d even been the one to point out that Token was still totally smitten with her. But after a year and a half of dating the class president and soon-to-be captain of the debate team, Wendy knew it was time to move on.

Now there was the matter of breaking it to the one person who would take it the hardest—Stan.

“What do you mean you’re breaking up with Token?!”

Wendy buries her head in her hands. Hiding her embarrassment from Craig who’s clearly eavesdropping from behind the counter.  She should’ve thought twice before inviting him to coffee at Tweak Bros. It could be worse, she thinks. Tweek _and_ Kenny could be working today as well. At least the store was crowded enough that Craig didn’t have time to comment while filling a flurry of orders. Gotta love that fall rush for warm drinks.

“I mean exactly that, Stan,” she deadpans. She looks up at his signature puppy pout, taking a sip of her latte. He was good practice, and it wasn’t the first time she’d had to break this sort of news to Stan, anyway.

“But why?” He looked positively dumbfounded.” Did he do something wrong?”

“It’s not always about doing something wrong. Ugh, I don’t even need a reason because it’s my life. You should respect that.” Wendy rants.

“Of course I do! It’s just, Wends,” he rubs his left temple roughly. “You don’t do anything without thinking it through. So this must’ve been bothering you for a while.”

Dammit, he never let her get away with anything. He hadn’t changed much since their elementary school days. Except for the black gages, and that he was five inches taller than her at five ten. Overall, he was still that blue eyed dork with a button nose that threw up on her throughout third and fourth grade. “I hate you sometimes, you know?”

“I know,” he smiles playfully. “Now c’mon, let it all out.”

“He’s a nice guy and all. I do like him,” Wendy concedes.

“But…” Stan coaxes.

She sighs, wondering how to put this lightly. “When was the last time you saw us together Stan?”

“Last Tuesday?” He continues to furrows his brows, probably searching for a better answer in his memory.

“Ok, now when was the last time you _heard_ about us?” She poses, eyeing Craig Tucker’s unabashed smirk out of the corner of her vision.

“Is this a trick question?”

“No,” she resolves with a neutral tone. “I want you to give me your best answer.”

Stan pauses, munching on his everything bagel. “Eight months ago, I guess. Kyle was complaining about you hoarding the bathroom at Red’s party.”  

“Stan, that was the last time Token and I went out together.”

“Seriously?” He blanches at his friend, “dude, why?”

“Lots of reasons,” she thinks out loud. “We’re busy, high-achieving people. We excel in all of our passions.”

He nods, gulping down another bite. “I thought that’s what made you two work,” he talks with his mouth full.

Wendy wrinkles her nose at his lack of table manners. “The only problem is we’re not passionate about _each other_.”

“Oh,” Stan hums, half distracted by Ruby bursting into the shop on her scooter.

“Oh is right,” the young woman says gravely.

Stan mumbles something under his breath. Then he wines half-heartedly, “but who’s gonna double-date with me, Kyle and David?”

“I don’t know, maybe Kenny, Tweek, and Craig?” She gestures her head over to Craig who’s yelling at Ruby to get out.

“Pfft, they don’t count,” Stan waves her off.  “That’s like saying I could hang out with my sister if I was bored.”

“I heard that, Marsh,” the taller boy scowls at him momentarily.

“Because my birthday present is totally gonna blow yours out of the water, Tucker.” He shrugs, “just bracing you for eleven months of guilt trips.”

“You’re so lucky I’m on duty right now,” Craig takes that moment to step out behind the counter to act as a human blockade to his sister.

“Stan,” Wendy snaps her fingers in his face to regain his attention. “We both know you aren’t complaining about double-dates.”

“Yea…it’s just…” he blushes. “I feel guilty, ok? I thought I was doing a good thing setting you guys up.”

“And you did,” she assures him. “You care about your friends enough to find compatibilities between them and offer them mutual kinship. But getting along doesn’t equal a great relationship.”

“You’re right. Fuck, so what now?”

“Now I talk to Token,” she surmises calmly. “We settle everything like adults, and move on peacefully.”

Stan frowns, glaring at the iced tea that he insist is still warm enough outside to enjoy. “Are you going to be ok?”

“Stan,” Wendy smiles graciously. “I’m the one dumping him.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting, Wends. Any break up means the end of something you once knew. Two years is a long time,” he insists. His eyes are bleeding with a protectiveness that Wendy could always count on and cherish.  

“I’ll be ok,” she persists. She tucks some of the loose strands from her pixie cut behind her ear. “You’ll see.”

Later that day, she texted Token.

W – Can we talk?

T – I have practice after school. First meet is on Saturday. Can it wait?

W – Sure  

T – Thanks, you’re the best.

Wendy sighs, slumping back against her desk chair. Her eyes fall on a photo of her eight grade graduation that she keeps on her shelf. Briefly, she stares at someone she hasn’t talked to in a long time, Bebe Stevens. The brunette wonders what she’s been up to. She admonishes herself for daydreaming of the past.

 “I guess a few days won’t make a difference either way.”

* * *

 

Marjorine Stotch loved being an internet personality. Despite having her bedroom cramped with lights that were hot as hell while filming, she loved being creative and inspiring others to love themselves. At the moment, she is working on the introduction for her latest video.

“Hey guys, it’s Marji! Welcome to my channel. Today I’ve created for you this stunning fall soft-glam look. Up in mountain land, we don’t have as many deciduous trees. So I find myself drawn to a lot of rich oranges, browns, and reds around this time of year. This look is perfect for bringing warmth into your everyday routine. I’ll also be offering some tips along the way for keeping your skin hydrated as the weather gets colder. If you like this video be sure to give it a thumbs up. And if you haven’t already, be sure to subscribe because I post twice a week and we have a lot of fun around here. Without further ado, let’s get into this look!”

After a beat of silence, her cameraman shouts. “We forgot to do the sign-off.”

“Shoot,” Marji bops her forehead. “Ok let’s do that real quick.”

“Ok, rolling.”

“And this is the finished look!” Her hands enthusiastically frame her face. “I hope you enjoyed my tutorial. Leave me a cool comment below and let me know what you’d like to see next! Have a great week and remember to be-You-tiful.” She ends by blowing a kiss to the camera. 

“Cut,” David shouts as he shuts the camera and mic off.

“Whew,” the blonde blots the beads of sweat forming on her face. “What time is it?”

He flicks his wrist watch. “It’s 4:15.”

“Darn, I’m running late for work,” she scrambles to throw her uniform into her purse along with her wallet, cell phone and idea book.

“Need a lift?” David offers while holding back a chuckle. He really admired how much dedication Marjorine put into everything she did.

“You sure? I don’t want to put you out,” she continued to rush around looking for her black clogs underneath the makeup clutter.

“It’s no trouble at all, Mantequilla,” he notices one of her work shoes underneath a blouse she’d thrown earlier; upon picking it up, he catches her attention.

“Thanks David,” Marji beams at him. “You’re a real life safer.”

“Try telling that to Kyle,” he snorts while Marji yells to her mom that she’s leaving for work. They walk out of her mother’s house side by side.

“He’s still trying to get you to film for him, huh?” She pulls on her peacoat when the crisp October breeze nips at her arms.

“Por desgracia,” the teen rolls his eyes.  He opens the passenger door of his 96 Toyota Camry for her. It’s a forest green that reminds Marji of the car her mother had growing up.

“Well if you don’t mind me asking,” she chances after he pulls out of her driveway. “What’s the harm?”

“It’s…” David groans, opting for not dealing with the matter. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“David,” Marji chastises him. “What am I always saying?”

“Every emotion is valid…” he recites by heart since he hears it all the time when they record videos for her channel.  

“Exactly.”

“It’s just…when Gordoto gets involved in anything it’s like Kyle gets tunnel vision,” he divulges.

“Aw, don’t take it personally that’s how they are with each other,” she pats his shoulder sympathetically. “The four of them are like that, actually. It’s been that way since we were in diapers.”

“But Stan’s not like that,” David contends bitterly. “Stan doesn’t push me to the side the second Cartman comes up with some tonto idea.”

“They’re different people, David. You’d know that better than anyone.”

He huffs in resignation. “I know, and I love them both. But I got into this relationship for Kyle. And somedays it feels like Stan and I are the only ones in it.”

“Talk to Kyle,” Marjorine insists. “It’s as simple as that.”

The wind picks up, forcing David to fight against it with the steering wheel. Despite the temperature outside, the sun’s blaring intensely with few clouds in the sky. Any non-locals would look out the car window and swear it’s warm.

“You’re right,” David admits after a minute of MisterWives keeping the silence from collapsing in on them.  “You’re always right.

“I’m just one part of a great team,” she smiles brilliantly at him. She wasn’t sugar coating it, either. Marji really depended on David. It’s why she’d raised his commission to thirty percent of what every video made. The bigger her channel got, the closer both of them were to paying off college.

“Es cierto, amgia,” he chuckles at how easy she makes everything with her perceptive eye and big heart. “Well, here’s your stop.” He pulls into a spot right in front of the employee entrance for Benny’s.

She gets out of the car; hollering as he pulls away, “gracias again, I owe you a free coffee.”

“Good! I’ll take you up on that during midterms.”

“Talk to both of them. Don’t chicken out,” she warns again.

“Lo promito.” He waves one last time, then speeds away. Presumably, to Stan’s house as he’s throwing his annual birthday bash.

When he out of site, Marjorine checks her phone. She has a half an hour before her shift. Enough time to get ready. She uses her card to open the back door. The blonde goes to change hurriedly before shift. In the women’s bathroom, she throws her things into a cramped stall. Immediately, she pulls off her halter top. With great dexterity, she removes her jeans while hanging her uniform on the back of the stall door. She painstakingly pulls up her pantyhose on followed by her shaper.

During her freshmen year of high school, Marjorine taken to binge eating. To this day, she was in therapy for it, among other things, and recovering. However, those first six months of high school had left their mark on her body. The blonde now had a curvy bottom, thick thighs, and a small pouch of fat on her stomach. Her chest was rather flat, which she enjoys because of the feminine triangle shape it allotted her figure.

Normally, she’d wear clothing that fit great, looked nice, and made her feel beautiful. However, Benny’s uniforms were starchy, and flattered no one’s body. So she relegated herself to shapers for an extra confidence boost during her work shift. Her dress took no time at all to slip over her head and smooth out. Marji folded her outfit precisely and stored it carefully into her purse, fearing they’d get crumpled during her five-hour shift.

Marjorine unlocks the stall, dropping her purse on the bathroom counter. She examines her reflection. Her terracotta and orange halo eye look subdued enough for her manager not to complain and for her to get extra tips tonight. She grabs a few bobby pins from her cosmetics bag, using them to keep the top of her undercut from falling flat. Something about her signature haircut, besides that it was finally in style, was hard for her to move on from. It was this perfect reminder of how far she’s come as a person. And more importantly, how she loves her body no matter what, even if she has to remind herself of that sometimes.

She saunters confidently out of the restroom. Once she’s stuffed her things in her locker, she takes a deep breath and steals herself for another shift. She loves meeting people and being financially independent for the most part. But some days, assholes won’t stay away. She punches her time card.

Once she opens the kitchen door, she’s in full view for the patrons. Her smile is officially unwavering.

“Hey, Henri. How’s the crowd?” Marjorine greets her co-worker.

Henrietta Biggle, in an ironic twist, starting working at Benny’s almost a year ago. “Lots of fucking couples out tonight. Oh, and table six wants more coffee.”

Marjorine leans over counter to look at table six. She finds Michael slow sipping on a mug. “Henri, no,” she protests sternly.

“Please, Marji. I don’t want to deal with him today,” Henrietta begs, bending her knees to make her look short and pitiful. At five feet tall Henri made everyone look like a giant. Nonetheless, underneath her too-large uniform was the toned body of a triathlete, so Marjorine wasn’t easily assuaged.

Truth be told, the goths hadn’t been friends since the beginning of sophomore year. Marjorine didn’t know for sure why; but she suspected it had something to do with a falling out they had last September when the three of them couldn’t figure out who Mike Makowski was asking to homecoming. If the rumor mill was anything to go off of, Pete had been crushing on Mike for a while and Michael had said some pretty choice things about conforming to ‘queer South Park’s bullshit’.

She didn’t really wanna deal with him either, but Henri was her gal pal. She bit her lip, already regretting what she was going to say. “Alright, but you should stop avoiding him. He was your friend at one point.”

“I’ll cover your shift next Thursday if we just stop having this conversation right now,” Henri offered desperately.

“You drive a hard bargain, sweetie.” Marji preened sublime.  

The blonde grabs the coffee pot and makes a few rounds in her section. Checking on customers as she goes.

“Can I refill that for you?” She asks when she reaches table six.

Michael’s reading a worn down copy of Hamlet. He mumbles a curt, “sure” before she pours his coffee.  The former “tall goth” sneers at her. Clearly disappointed that it isn’t Henrietta made to serve him.

“Sorry about, Henri,” Marjorine apologizes. “She’ll come around.”

“I seriously doubt that. It’s been a year,” Michael rationalizes. “No offense, but you look familiar. Do I know you?”

“We go to school together, Michael.” She tells him flatly.

“Do we?” He looks even more confused.

“We have AP Art History together,” Marji clicks her tongue impatiently.

“Oh right,” he feigns recognition before taking another sip of his black coffee.

She sighs, still refusing to give up her genuine smile. Albeit the smile was thinking about the party she was going to after work. “We were in a dance crew together one time.”

Michael chokes on his drink. There’s the recognition. “Fuck, you grew up into a real bimbo,” he thinks out loud.

Not for the first time, Marjorine represses the urge to throw hot coffee on a customer. She nods curtly at him and saunters off. The rest of her shift is extremely uneventful. Henri gets off at eight. The blonde watches her leave through the front door; which isn’t typical of her or company policy but it grabs Michael’s attention as he watches her walk out the door. When she emerges out of the restroom in her street clothes at ten fifteen, she realizes Michael is still in his booth. Taking a huge leap of faith, Marji sits down across from him in the booth. Hoping to appeal to his senses. He doesn’t hide how her presence perturbs him.

“Now, I try not to get involved in other people’s problems unless they ask for help,” she begins. “But you, mister have a lot of problems, and most of them have nothing to do with Henri and Pete.”

“Look, I guess I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” Michael doesn’t roll his eyes, and in fact doesn’t avoid her gaze. That’s an improvement to say the least.

Marjorine still takes the opportunity of being off duty to tell it like it is. “No, no you’re not. The only thing I dislike more than a bigot is a liar. So let’s both pretend for a minute that you, a ‘non-conformist’, doesn’t judge others based on appearances like the rest of us.”

“I…I,” he stammers.

“I don’t know what being goth meant to you,” she interrupts. “But it must have been a big part of your childhood. And a big part of your relationship with them. I haven’t seen either of them wear black in an awful long time. Pete doesn’t even come here for coffee anymore.”  

“I know, he’s been going to fucking Tweak’s meth factory ever since,” he drawls, going so far as to play with one of his black curls.

Her glare hardens.

Michael gulps, “Sorry. I guess I’ve been a dick.”

Her face softens considerably. “They’re good people. They’ll forgive you when the time comes. Just make sure your apology comes from the heart.”

He soberly nods, grabbing his book and jacket as he stands up and slams money on the table.  He scratches his neck nervously, not knowing what to do next. “I guess I’ll, uh, see you on Monday.”

Marjorine tilts her sympathically, genuinely rooting for him. “Have a good weekend, Michael.”

* * *

 A few minutes before that, and a few tables away, Wendy sat with Token. They were sharing a slice of apple pie for dessert. Token had agreed to meet her after he got back from Denver.

“How was the meet?”

“Great,” he told her animatedly. “It was just a novice meet, but the freshmen did pretty well. We have some promising kids in that class.”

“That’s wonderful,” she forced a smile.

He nodded, picking more at his plate than minding her. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“I…there’s no easy way to say this,” Wendy struggles.

 “You wanna break up.” The words came out easily.

The girl’s cheeks flush brightly, “am I that transparent?”

“I’ve known you all my life,” he explains. “Even if we had never dated, I would know what you’re saying.”  Truth be told, Craig had given him so vague warning a few days ago. Token hadn’t considered what it could be before this moment. It made so much sense that he wanted to slap himself for being so oblivious.

“I’m sorry. I feel like an ass springing this on you.” She stirs creamer into her mug of coffee; with no intention of actually drinking it.

“You’re not,” Token persuades. “And…I get it.”

“Really?” Eyeing him nervously, Wendy tries to smile again. This time it comes out a little more naturally.

“I figured it was ok to put our relationship on the backburner because we’re both working towards getting out of this town. I should’ve asked if that’s what you wanted before I went ahead and took your company for granted.” He coughs awkwardly.

Wendy huffs, exasperated, but relieved. “I do wanna get out of here, for the record. But I also want to enjoy being young. And just because I want to go out of state for college, doesn’t mean I’m never going to move back here.” Her blush darkens a bit at her confession.

“Understood,” he concedes. “I just hope we can still be friends.”

“We’ll always be friends, Token.” She leans over the table, kissing him on the cheek. She attempts to put some bills on the table, he shrugs her off. Asking her to let him be a chivalrous boyfriend one last time.

She smiles graciously at him, before walking out the door to her car. He watches Wendy leave, thinking about how a few years ago, he would’ve been devastated about being left by his first love…again. But she’s right, they haven’t been a couple in a while. He can’t remember the last time anyone gave him any sort of infatuation. Not the way success did for him, at least.

Token believes he’s the odd man out among his friends. After all, he’s the only single guy in his group. Even before being dumped, it felt like that. It’s ok to not be in a relationship right? Yeah, it should be. What Wendy said, about moving back someday strikes a chord with him. He assumed growing up that everyone who had the money would get the fuck out of South Park. Maybe they would, but they’re all so in love right now. Who’s to say if people like Kenny, Tweek and Craig will make the distance or if Clyde will ever admit he’s in love with Cartman? They’re not afraid to love for fear of being stuck here. They’re just…living. Wendy might have the right idea, enjoy this town while it has you. Because in some ways, your childhood will always be in some crevice of who you are.

Token throws some money on the table and stands up. He’s walking towards the door when he hears Marjorine’s voice.

_“No, no you’re not. The only thing I dislike more than a bigot is a liar. So let’s both pretend for a minute that you, a ‘non-conformist’, doesn’t judge others based on appearances like the rest of us.”_

‘Wow, I didn’t know she had that in her’, Token thinks to himself. He listens intently to the rest of their conversation, conspicuously hovering a few feet behind them. When Michael gets up to leave, he resolves to go say hello to his friend.

“That was amazing,” he walks up behind Marjorine.

Marji’s head whips around. She’s grinning when she realizes who’s talking to her. “Oh hey Token, you heard that huh?”

“Yeah, sorry for the intrusion,” he stumbles through his words. “I was just here with Wendy and…yea I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she hides a laugh behind her hand. “I’m not ashamed to stand up to people who deserve a stern talking to.”

Token looks shyly around the diner. “Are you done working for today?”

“Yep, I’m waiting for the next bus which is in…” she pauses to check the time on her phone. “Twenty minutes.”

“Can I offer you a ride?” He wishes he was another person right now. So he could effectively smack himself later for sound corny. But it’s Marjorine, what does she care if he sounds like a doofus?  

She takes a moment to weigh her options. Happily resolving, “yes, I’d like that a lot.”

He offers his arm to her, which she accepts. He leads her outside, opens the door to the diner for her; as well as the door of his still-new Audi. Marjorine remains quiet, bidding her time while Token gathers up the courage to say something. It’s as clear as day that he wants to talk. And although she doesn’t take it personally, Marji knows she’s further down on Token’s friend list.

“So what’s on your mind, Token?” She caves in after he can’t pick which radio station to listen to—let alone back up the car.

“Oh…” he’s once again caught off guard that his quaint childhood friend isn’t as simple minded as he assumed. He chastises himself for once again essentializing girls. “A lot of things. Wendy broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” They’re stopped at a red light, Marji puts a hand on his right which is resting on the console.

He looks over to her. Anyone else, he’d think they’re just being polite. But Marjorine Stotch is just so fucking sincere and caring all the time. Her eyes are glowing in the moonlight with compassion. They’re looking at each other for too long, he hears a car horn beep behind them. The light’s been green for god knows how long.

“No, it’s fine,” he assures her as he starts driving again. “We were drifting apart for a while and I was too distracted to make her a priority.”

“That’s very mature of you to admit. I’m sure you’ll be on good terms in no time,” she concludes.

“Me too,” Token brushes off her concern.  “But that’s not what’s bothering me. Do you ever feel like you have nothing in common with…anyone?”

She turns to face him straight on. He can feel her stare boring into him. He hears her sigh loudly. “Token do you remember freshmen orientation? What you said to me?”

“Vaguely?” He lies, “was it something about…glee club?”

“You asked me if I was gonna stop hanging out with the guys now that I had taken ‘this whole girl thing’ too far,” Marjorine says candidly.  

“Shit,” he curses. Then, remembering his mother raising him to never curse in front of a lady, winces. “I’m sorry. Probably sorrier than I’ve ever been, and I mean that.”

“I know you do,” she frowns. “And I see it most days that you’re sorry you ever tried to cut Tweek and Craig out of your life for being gay. But have you ever stopped to think that you’re just pushing the people who love you away?”

He’s silent for a bit. “I never thought of it that way. I’ve just had my head up my ass so long about going to Princeton like my parents.”  

“It’s good to have goals, Token,” the blonde asserts.

“But…”  

“But nothing,” Marji’s voice is soft but sedated. “Only you can decide for yourself what’s important in life.”

“You’re really cool, you know that? I can’t believe we didn’t hang out more growing up.”

“Well hey now,” she chides. “We’re not dead or anything. You can hang out with me whenever you want.”

“Yeah?” He bites his lip, wanting to retract some of the excitement in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Marji confirms.

Token pulls into the driveway of her house. He then realizes something imperative. “I forgot to ask you if I’m taking you home,” he admits meekly.

“Oh this works just fine.” She rolls down the window, noticing the number of parked cars crowding the block. “Are you going to Stan’s tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I was thinking about it.”

She grins warmly at him. “If you’re up for it, you can keep your car here. We could walk over together and keep talking.”

He smiles back at her, shutting the car off. “I think I’d like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I lied because it hasn't been a week since the last chapter went up, but I also wanted to get this up sooner because the main three aren't in this chapter. That's mainly to get the side plots moving, all future chapters will have Creekenny present. 
> 
> And now, for some more Spanglish con David: 
> 
> Por desgracia - unfortunately  
> Gordoto - fatty (in Mexican culture we use a lot of descriptive and sometime ironic nicknames, it's at least somewhat affectionate)  
> tonto idea - dumb idea (I know, idea's spelled the same, I imagine him saying idea in spanish, though)  
> Es cierto, amiga - that's true friend  
> Lo promito - I promise 
> 
> Also I think that David calls Marji, Mantaquilla. Remember the last of the Meheecans when you can totally see David hitting a Mantaquilla piñata? I imagine that even if that isn't supposed to be him, he's totally heard of Mantaquilla. And he probably thinks she's really cool when he realizes he's friends with her. So it's an affectionate and since Mantaquilla is a feminine word in spanish, she's totally cool with it.


	3. Well Who Am I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan has a bad day, but his boyfriends are there to pick him up. Later, Craig's problem is a lot bigger than anyone had anticipated.

Stan wakes up to a ruckus at 8 in the morning to music blasting. He cringes, it has to be his dad. Shelly doesn’t pull shit like this…even when she’s actually in town. Against his best wishes, Stan pulls himself out of bed. Fuck, he thinks to himself, this might be a terrible day. He stumbles  downstairs to find the living room in disarray. A bunch of beer cans on the floor, the TV flipped to MTV, the couch cushions strewn randomly around the floor. And the box for a 30 pack of Natural Light on top of the coffee table. Meanwhile, Randy’s muttering incomprehensibly on the couch while blasting Blink-182.

“Fuck yea, what’s my age again?” Randy yells at the end of the choras.

Stan facepalms. “Too fucking old for this shit,” he mutters bitterly.

“Huh?” The entrance of another voice startling Randy. “Oh hey, Stan. Thanks for picking up beer. I might have drunk…all of it.”

Stan walks around the couch, towering over his father. “Christ, Dad, 30 beers…how long have you been up?”

“I woke up at 5 am to do some physical exercise,” Randy recounts in his stupor.

Stan takes a deep breath, modulating his voice to seem calmer than he was. “And what happened?”

“…I saw…there was beer on the premises.”

“You had to do this while Mom is gone,” he rolls his eyes.

“Ah it’s no big deal,” Randy waves his son off. “I’ll sober up eventually.”

“Dad,” he snaps, clenching his fists. “You’re leaving for a fishing trip with Uncle Jimbo in twenty minutes.”

“Why would I do that?” Randy argues, sitting up finally, “I hate fishing.”

“Because you’re making up for forgetting my goddamn birthday, Dad.” Stan shouts at the man.

“Riiiiiight,” Randy feigns recognition. Then he burps rather loudly. “I’m sorry, Stanley.”

“And you owe me twenty bucks for that Natty,” the younger taps his foot impatiently. He still can’t believe he has to put up with this shit.

“Just get a sixty out of my wallet,” Randy shrugs as if it’s any other screw up. Randy’s taken to bribing Stan ever since he entered high school.

Now that he thinks about it, Stan wonders if it has anything to do with him coming out as bi with two boyfriends. Probably, considering it’s Randy. Stan resolves not to correct him on the amount. He picks his father’s wallet off the floor; grabbing the money before tossing it onto Randy’s chest. The teen proceeds to shuts off the music. He jogs up the stairs to his parent’s room. Stan grabs his dad’s shit from around the room including his overnight bag, keys and a fresh change of clothing since his was currently covered in beer.

The house is uncomfortably quiet now that the music is gone. Stan thinks about how lonely it’s been since his mom’s career as an author took off. Don’t get him wrong, he’s thrilled that his mom published a successful murder mystery novel and is doing well for herself. Her being self-fulfilled away from his dad was something he always wanted for her. But he’s the only one left in the house to regularly deal with his dad’s shit. And honestly, it makes him feel too old some days. Too worn out by his father’s immature antics. He’s pulled out of his musings by the sound of  a horn beeping outside. Stan runs back down with all of Randy’s things.

“C’mon,Dad,”Stan peels him off the couch. Randy’s weight is more than Stan can deal with now that he doesn’t train intensively for football, but it’s manageable.  “You can change on the way there.”

“Jimbo’s gonna kill me.” Randy protests, struggling against his son.

“No, I’m the one who’s gonna kill you Dad,” Stan corrects harshly as he drags his father toward the door.

“No, seriously, this is the eighth time Ned’s had to undress me in the backseat this year,” he insists.  

Stan complains to himself that Randy can remember that obscure fact more than his own son’s birthday. Randy continues rambling about Jimbo being a jealous son of a bitch and that he was never worried about Jimbo and Sharon spending time together. Why should it matter if he needs Ned’s help? Stan elects to ignores his dad, beyond frustrated. He opens back seat for Randy, shoving him in and tossing his bag and clothes on top unceremoniously. He walks around to the driver’s side where Jimbo who has his window rolled down.

“Hey Stan,” his uncle smiles kindly. “How’s 17 feeling?”

Stan attempts to crack a smile, knowing Jimbo always has his back. “It’s going alright, could you do me a favor?”

“Sure, kid,” Jimbo nods firmly.

“Drop him off at rehab on your way back,” he sighs. “I don’t want to deal with…this for another two months.” Stan gestures listlessly at his father in the backseat.

Jimbo looks over his shoulder, getting a long hard look at his brother. “Fuck, that bad huh?”

“A thirty pack at five in the morning, Jimbo. Because he _saw_ it.” Stan emphasizes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shit,” Jimbo curses.  “Ok, I might need to call your ma. Worst case scenario, we’ll say you’re staying at our place temporarily” He winks at Stan, clueing him into his potential ruse.

Stan’s face breaks into a genuine smile. He reaches over the door  and hugs his uncle. “Thanks, Jimbo”

He waves him and Ned goodbye before heading back into his house. Wow, it strikes him that it might really be just his house at this point. The thought is strangely discomforting. He climbs the stairs, again. It feels like a fucking marathon now that he doesn’t have to rush his father out the door.  It’s times like this that remind Stan about how depression and anxiety are the fucking worst. If you’re having a good day, something might send you spiraling anyway. If you’re having a bad day, your anxiety might send you spiraling—and then you’d have the energy to do stupid shit. He remembers one day his mom made a passive aggressive comment about him leaving trash on the living room floor. This lead Stan to spend the next three hours cleaning the entire house. His mom found him in tears trying to walk away from the dishes…specifically the knives. That’s how he got sent back to therapy six months ago.

The one good thing about having the house to himself is that if he’s having a bad day—which he totally is—he’s allowed to doing nothing all day. No one can force him to function. He’ll have the television in his room on loud; put it on TV Land; and maybe catch up on school reading…or some sleep. He curses himself for not thinking about grabbing food on the way up. It’s too late now, he supposes. Maybe he can talk himself into delivery later, just not Chinese. Kenny said something really cryptic and creepy a few summers ago about human parts in some of the dishes.

Stan falls unceremoniously onto his bed. He flips on the television, it’s an all-day marathon of _The Nanny_ . He smiles, _The Nanny_ was one of the few shows Kyle would always watch with him growing up. And the theme song has always been catchy. One of Stan’s favorite ways to cope with his anxiety is by singing. It’s almost like screaming, but he can put all of his passion into holding notes and getting lost in good memories associated with the music. Plus, if he’s lucky, a few people will compliment overhearing him.

“She was working in a bridal shop in Flushing Queens…” He sings along to the theme song.

So there he stays, enjoying the wit and sarcasm of Fran Drescher. The show reminds him a lot of Kyle. Maybe not Kyle exactly, but of afternoons spent under Mrs. Broflovski’s approving gaze and learning Yiddish.

He doses off at some points. Even tries masturbating, but he really can’t feel it today.

It’s late afternoon when he hears a car pull up outside. It’s probably David. Kyle was muttering something last night about spending all day learning how to use the library’s DSLR camera.

“Amor?” David yells from the front door.

“Estoy ariba,” Stan hollers back.

He hears the pounding of steps growing closer. He doesn’t bother to look over, he can’t will himself to fake it right now. Fake happiness, that is. Not that it matters. Kyle gets enraged when Stan tries to hide how bad he’s feeling. David, on the other hand, makes him feel guilty. Not on purpose, but in the way his heart seems to break in front of Stan’s eyes. There’s this look of complete loss, like he wants to fix everything but some days he can’t even get Stan to smile.

“Da me espacio,” David puts his camera equipment on Stan’s desk, slipping off his shoes. He climbs into bed, spooning Stan from behind. He nuzzles’ the other teens neck.

“Hola mi rey,” David peppers his neck with kisses.

“Hi baby,” Stan smiles to himself. David loves him to the moon and back.

“Entonces, qué hiciste hoy?” Su novio tries to coax out of Stan.

“Watched TV,” he drawls.

“Y algo mas?”

“I hauled my dad’s ass out of the house after he drank one of our cases of Natty.” Stan tries to make it sound like it’s no big deal. Unfortunately, David knows him way better than that.

“Probrecito,” David sighs. He squeezes Stan a little tighter, nuzzling the crook of the older’s neck. “Is there something else going on?”

“I don’t know…” he huffs, wondering whether or not to be honest. Stan remembers that this is David, there’s nothing he can’t tell David.  “I know this sounds ridiculous, but I feel like my mom left me. Abandoned me to deal with my shit-show of a father. And I can’t keep being the adult in this house. I’m seventeen for fuck’s sake.”

“I know, bebe,” the younger agrees. Stan can practically hear the cogs turning in his boyfriend’s head. He and Kyle are a lot alike in that respect.  “You can always stay with me.”

“Gracias,” he turns over to kiss David. “I can always crash at Ned and Jimbo’s if it gets to be too much.”

David’s frown deepens. “Do you want to cancel the party?”

“What?” Stan gapes.  “No, Craig will kill me. Also, Kyle’s been looking forward to this all week.”

David sighs, his anger at Kyle unchanged since yesterday.

“I know you’re mad at him right now,” Stan concedes.  “And I am too. Trust me, but…I can’t say no to Kyle.”

“I know, amor. Neither can I,” David all but whispers.

“Are we losers?” Stan looks at him seriously, pulling their bodies closer.  “Following him around, waiting for him to get his face out of Cartman’s ass?”

“Is that really what you think of me?”

They both look behind David. Kyle’s leaning against the bedroom door. His scowl is hard to decipher, at the very least he’s appalled.

“No,” Stan says automatically. “Maybe? Fuck, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“Yea, it sounded like the guy who I had to pine for years over, is saying I’m hung up on fucking Eric Cartman.” The redhead counters coldly.

Stan’s trying to fight back tears. David, pulls him in tighter; allowing the shorter to bury his head in David’s chest.

“Don’t take his side on this,” Kyle snaps. “You can’t honestly believe I have feelings for Cartman.”

“We don’t think you have feelings for him,” David clarifies calmly. “We just know that we’ll always take second place to proving Cartman wrong.”

Kyle’s dumbfounded.

“It was funny when we were kids, Kyle.” David adds, “now it just hurts.”

Stan’s silently bawling at this point, mentally kicking himself for showing so much weakness. He doesn’t cry, not normally anyway. This is just such a bad day. And now Kyle hates him. What if Kyle breaks up with him and David and it’s all his fault? What if David hates him afterwards and goes after Kyle? Fuck, why did he have to open his stupid mouth?

“Stan,” Kyle’s face falls, realizing what he’s done.

Kyle runs a hand through his thick curly hair, stepping closer. He kneels down next to the bed, eyes pleading to David to let him make this better. David nudges Stan over; who, for his part, faces away from them. Kyle takes off his jacket and shoes, stands up and lies down on the other side of David.

Kyle can really be an idiot sometimes, he tells himself. This isn’t the first time in the last month he’s seen Stan in pain. Has trouble enough handling his own stress without feeding off of everyone else’s tenfold. Kyle can only imagine how Stan’s been dealing with him and David arguing...and putting Stan in the middle of it. David’s right, they’re both right. Cartman shouldn’t have this much control over him. The fuck, he’s been a huge ass to the only people who matter because he was trying to prove something to someone who doesn’t.

Kyle’s steadily realizing what a jerk he’s been. Stan has fucking depression and hides it better than Leonardo DiCaprio hides that he doesn’t have a personality. It shouldn’t be his job to stay strong for Kyle and David. Kyle’s definitely an idiot. He tends to be narrow-minded and oblivious. But he’s also so, so lucky that he has two people in the world that love him, and sometimes even for that.

“Oh mirror in the sky, what is love,” Kyle sings in a low baritone.

“Stop,” Stan mutters.

Kyle ignores him. “Can the child within my heart rise above?”

“Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?” David joins in, always the perfect harmonizer.

“Can we handle the seasons of our lives” Kyle modifies.

“Well I’ve been afraid of changin, ‘cause I built my life around you,” Stan turns over towards Kyle and David, starts crying in earnest.

“But time makes you bolder,” David murmurs, caressing his hair.

“Children get older,” Kyle adds. “I’m getting older too.”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Stan admits in earnest.

“Fix what?” Kyle inquires worriedly.

“Us,” whimpers. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s a really bad day. I’ve been watching _The Nanny_ and trying to figure out how to make you both happy so we can just move on from this fight. It’s stupid, Cartman’s just an ass but he isn’t driving us apart. We’re doing that all by ourselves.”

“Sweetheart,” the redhead coos.

“Querido,” David kisses him on the temple.

“Stan…I’m sorry. Fuck, I’ve been an asshole to both of you.” Kyle kisses David desperately on the cheek. “You make me a better person. You make me better than I ever thought I could be. No amount of shoving fatass’ stupidity up his pudgy little face will ever compare to the love that you too give me.”

David, overwhelmed by how his novios have buried the hatchet, feels more than responsible now.

“I’m sorry I overreacted,” David chimes in. “I should’ve been more direct about why I was upset. You’re not a mind reader. And sometimes, I may use your hectic schedule to avoid confrontation and put less trust in you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Stan chimes in.

“Por que mi amor?” David asks quietly

“I’m…I,” Stan struggles to articulate.

“Now listen here, Stanley Marsh,” Kyle interrupts. “If you’re about to say anything about your usefulness, I will shut you up personally. We love you. You. Fuck everything and everyone else. You’re the glue that keeps us together.”

“Es verdad,” David nods enthusiastically. “I never thought it would be possible to love two people so differently yet equally. You taught me that, amor. Every single day, you love with every fiber of your being.”

Stan smiles a tiny bit. “You guys always know what to say. I love you so much.”

These are the moments that Stan loves the most. Where it’s just the three of them, shielding each other from the rest of the world.

“We can cancel the party,” Kyle acquiesces, breaking their comfortable silence. “This is your birthday we’re celebrating. I’m not gonna make you uncomfortable.”

“Nah it’s ok,” Stan says. “I still have a few hours to get my energy up. Plus, Craig would flambe me.”

“We should probably get this place ready,” the redhead points out.

“Capaz a nap first,” David nestles against Stan’s oversized pillow.

“Claro,” Kyle hums as he pulls them both closer into his chest. 

* * *

 Several hours later,  Stan and Craig’s seventeenth birthday bash is in full swing. The music is bumping, the main floor and basement are overflowing with people, and Clyde is hogging the keg (again). Not that it really matters to Craig Tucker at the moment. He’s preoccupied by the fact that Tweek had to give him the heimlich maneuver after Kenny snuck up on him. That, and the fact that Kenny had died only an hour earlier and was back. It was a new record, really.  

“How are you alive already?” Craig seethes as he pulls Kenny out toward the backyard. Tweek trails behind them.

“Oh, so you do remember,” Kenny snarks as they poke Craig roughly. “Would’ve loved a real heads up next time, Tucker.”

“If you call not letting you out of my sight for six straight weeks until the moment I saw you get run over by six foot mutated lizard subtle, then I should be buying you a fucking dictionary.” Craig’s impassioned rant carries over to where Marjorine, Token and David are chatting on the deck. They all look over curiously at the three.

“Craig…” Kenny laughs awkwardly. “I told you not to take that shroom before we got here.” They glare at him.

This seems to be enough, as their eavesdroppers shrug to each other and continue on their conversation.

“I’m sorry, fuck. C’mon here,” Craig sighs. He graciously picks  Kenny up. They wrap their legs around his waist, and proceed to make out senselessly while Tweek looks on. Quietly, Tweek enjoys the show. What can the blond say? He has a bit of a voyeur streak to him.

“I should die more often,” Kenny jests after they break apart.

“Don’t even think about it,” Craig warns dangerously.

“So about that little detail of you being alive,” Tweek interrupts anxiously.

“Right,” Kenny climbs off of Craig. They shrug, “I pulled a favor?”

“A favor,” Craig parrots, unbelieving.

“More like...I bribed the son of Satan in exchange for an invite to my boyfriend’s joint birthday party?” Kenny rushes through their explanation.

“What” their boyfriends squawk.

Tweek catches on faster and grips Kenny’s shoulders tightly. “You invited fucking Damien Thorn to this party?”

“That weird kid from elementary school,” Craig blanches. “Was the son of satan?”

“Is,” Kenny corrects.

“Of course he is,” Craig groans. “Fuck me, this gets weirder by the day.”

Tweek and Kenny smirk at each other. They commence a round of  rock-paper-scissors. Scissors beats paper,  Tweek wins. He gestures suggestively at Craig, ready to claim his prize.  

Craig, however, finds little humor in their antics. “I was being sarcastic, assholes.”

“Mmm, were you?” Kenny chimes in flirtatiously.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Craig’s cheek flare up.

Kenny chuckles at Craig’s embarrassment. Marvelling at Tweek and their ability to get the older teen riled up. “Right, Damien and Pip will be here in an hour, so we best enjoy ourselves.”

“At least Pip’s coming,” Tweek mutters quietly.

It’s eleven thirty and the party shows no signs of slowing down soon. Jimmy’s doing a keg stand in the living room. Stan and David are enjoying drunk Kyle’s rendition of “We Didn’t Start the Fire”, which is amazingly better than most people’s interpretation. Although, he’s jumping around like a hyperactive moron.. Bebe’s somewhere giving Red a blow job, Craig knows because he got a snap from Red of her pussy. He really hates his cousin sometimes.

Tweek, Kenny, and Craig have commandeered a couch in the basement. They’ve been lazily making out for some time. Craig can’t tell if it’s the arousal or his light buzz from the Vegas-bomb he did earlier, but his skin feels like it’s vibrating. Some instinct tells him to look toward the stairs. His jaw drops a little.

Damien saunters in, with Pip’s arm wrapped around him. Funny, Craig imagined the son of Satan looking less like a power bottom. Damien scans the room, finding Kenny. He licks his lips seductively, it makes Craig’s blood boil. He feels his body shiver in rage. The prickling of his skin stinging lightly as it intensifies.

“Babe,” Kenny throws a piece of popcorn at Craig’s eye.

“What was that for?” He scowls at them.

“Your eyes are glowing again,” Tweek hisses. “Calm the fuck down.”

If Craig concentrates, he can see a blue aura around his vision. Shit, so that’s what that feeling was. He takes a deep breath.

“Feeling any better?” Kenny asks.

“Barely,” he scowls. “I don’t like how that asshole was looking at you like a piece of meat.”

“Don’t worry, tiger,” Kenny chuckles with a dark grin on their face. “I can rip Damien a new one on my own.”

“McCormick, Tucker, Tweak,” Damien sniffs indignantly at them.

“I hate my name,” Tweek huffs bitterly.

“It’s a nice name,” Craig squeezes his shoulder comfortingly as he continues to sneer at Damien.

“Oh my,” Pip steps up to Craig curiously. The Brit doesn’t seem to realize what personal space is. “This is interesting indeed.”

Kenny looks around the room, no one has noticed the group’s strange behavior...yet. “Let’s take this upstairs,” they suggest.

Damien bizarrely knows his way around the house.  He leads them easily up to Stan’s room as if it were his own house. Fucking creep, Craig thinks to himself as he rounds out the back of the line they’ve created. Somehow, Marsh hasn’t noticed them heading up. Actually, it’s not ‘somehow’ judging by how deep he has his tongue down David’s throat next to the television. Good thing Broflovski had the foresight to bubble wrap that thing. He can’t imagine the amount of disinfectant it would take to make that TV clean again.

“Trust me, there’s not a single inch of this house that hasn’t been fornicated in,” Damien tosses a smirk over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Kenny murmured. “I should’ve mentioned that he can hear thoughts. Just keep your mind on bunny rabbits for now. Or start reciting song lyrics.”

“Or Red Racer,” Tweek offers.

Craig rubs his temples. “We’re so going on a vacation when this is over.”

Kenny chuckles, “we’ll see.”

They find their way to Shelly’s old bedroom, Damien instructs Craig to sit on the bed. Kenny pushes him, literally, to do it. Forcing him down on the stale, dusty bed covers. He wonders when was the last time anyone stepped foot in this room. Damien gets in his face very quickly, poking his eyes lightly. Craig tries to punch him on reflex, but Damien is able to catch his fist in time. Stupid fucking son of Satan.

“Oh you flatter me, Tucker,” Damien waggles his eyebrows. “Hmm, this is a new one though.”

“A new what? What is he?” Tweek comments. “Shit, sorry, that came out wrong.”  

“None taken,” Craig shrugs. “Now what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“It’s not every day that a demigod comes out of the fray,” Damien says nonchalantly.

Craig buries his head in Tweek’s shoulder while Kenny rubs his back reassuringly.

“How is that even possible, Damien?” Kenny demands. “Aren’t demigods, I don’t know, usually descended from gods?”

“Or they reincarnate themselves,” Damien clarifies. “This, however. This is a brand new soul. And both your parents are white?”

“My mom’s Peruvian,” Craig growls.

“So perhaps your father isn’t really your father,” Pip speculates, peering closely at Craig’s flaming blue eyes. “We might have to increase the protection in that amulet you brought.”

“No kidding,” the son of Satan shakes his head. “Normally, demigods reveal themselves at a young age or once they reach maturity.”

“I turn seventeen in a few days, if that helps.” Craig offers a little meekly.

Damien shrugs, “I don’t know everything. There could be some other explanation…”

“But,” Kenny prompts.

“There’s one person who would probably answer your question, or archangel, rather.”

“Michael, fuck fine,” Kenny seathes. “Anything else?”

Damien glares directly at Kenny. He remains, silent and unmoved. Pip, reading the situation suggests, “perhaps there’s some things that can’t be said around the mortal.”

“Who? Me?” Tweek stands up to pace. “I guess I can leave…”

“No,” Kenny and Craig growl at the same time.

“Damien, he stays,” Kenny insists.

“No, it’s ok,” Tweek tries to placate. “I’m sure there’s shit I haven’t seen yet.”

“Doubt it,” Craig snarks. “What’s the big deal?”

“Well if you must know,” Damien huffs. “Demigods take concubines. Often multiple. While I’m sure it doesn’t affect you, Kenny, your little mortal might take issue to being eternally bound to this...hooligan.”

Craig, not for the first time this evening, wants to know how he could go about exterminating the son of Satan. He, however, has no clue what a concubine would entail. He looks hopefully at  Kenny for some insight.

“Why is that even relevant right now?” Kenny clenches their fists, attempting to calm down.

Pip answers this time, “with the level of power Craig posses, he might be able to kill both of you in one go. While you can revive by yourself, the only way Tweek could make it out of hell is if his soul belonged to a higher ranking celestial body.”

“Like a demigod,” Tweek finishes for himself. “Ok, how do you do that?”

“Simple,” Damien grins viciously. “You die in the name of said demigod and hope they pull you out of the depths of hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this chapter was supposed to be longer.


	4. To Keep You Down?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek tries to confront Craig. Later, Bebe's got too much on her plate.

They don’t talk about what Damien said at the party. Actually, Tweek’s dying to talk about it but whenever the subject comes up Craig finds an excuse to leave. Kenny’s not much better though, they hold onto to Tweek tightly as if he’s gonna die any second now. And it’s all very frustrating to Tweek—who just trying to have an adult conversation with his significant others. He isn’t made of glass, for fuck’s sake.

But this trend continues until he sees so little of either of them that he begins to wonder if they’re even dating him anymore. Which, deep down he knows is completely ridiculous. It’s not like when they were fourteen and he constantly wondered what Kenny saw in him or why Craig wanted him back. Tweek’s the one who ended things, after all.

After two weeks, he’s reached his limit of patience. Between fourth period and lunch, he sees Kenny lead Craig towards the basement door. Tweek knows that’s Kenny’s route of choice when they ditch class.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters to himself. “First they ignore me and now it’s truancy.”

He casually saunters to where he knows their exit leads, a small window below the pottery classroom. It hardly gets used during fifth period, save for a few people making up projects; giving himself enough time to check the classroom for any adults before heading in. He waits for them to reemerge and head where ever the fuck they’re going.

Kenny shimmies through first, dusting themselves off as Craig pulls himself up. They sprint towards Stark’s pond, Tweek watches them until they disappear from his sight line. They go off the main trail, and Tweek can only guess how deep into the woods their going. But knowing them, he’ll be able to hear them from half a mile away. He looks back at the room, the only person in is Pete who’s metal-core is blaring from across the room. He wouldn’t care regardless.

Without much hesitation, Tweek unceremoniously hoists his legs up on the windowsill. The drop is five feet to the pavement, and for once, he doesn’t roll his ankle. He takes it as a good sign. Today he’s a man on a mission, and nothing’s getting in his way.

As he enters the woods, Tweek notices a shift in the weather. The scent of pine intensifies as the temperature drops. The clouds rapidly increase and lump together over head. It’s like he’s being encased in a bio dome, at nature’s mercy. Tweek shivers slightly, wishing for once to have brought a jacket to school. The cold isn’t bad, he reminds himself. It keeps him sharp, alert. He hears the boom of thunder and reconsiders his options briefly. He could either return to school where the building will keep him safe. Or he can follow the trail of breadcrumbs to Craig. A violent flash comes from deeper in the forest. Something tells him to follow.

The trail isn’t hard to pursue, since the frequency of thunderous booms increases. It takes him a few minutes to find the small clearing where they’ve taken up occupancy. It faces one of the foot hills on the outskirts of town. Tweek decides to observe for now, to get to the bottom of everything. He hides behind a large aspen tree, peering cautiously at the scene.

He finds Craig standing alone. Kenny sits hunched, huddled into themselves while they watch from several yards away.  Their eyes peer tiredly through the tiny gap in their old orange parka. It’s an exhaustion that Tweek is all too familiar with. It’s this point between desperation and resignation where nothing seems plausible.

Tweek’s pulled out of his musings by a low humming in his ear. Craig’s stance tenses as the sound crescendos. It becomes deafening, Tweek winces as he cups his ears. Craig is struck by a massive streak of blue lighting. He screams at the top of his lungs, emitting a blue glow that intensifies the longer he’s struck. But wait, Tweek cracks an eye open, noticing some sparks fly out from Craig in other directions. And then Craig wavers, the lighting tilts sideways, crashing into a nearby mountain. Its impact shakes the ground beneath them. The strikes weren’t coming towards him; they were coming _from_ him. Shit.

“Again,” Craig pants.   

Kenny pulls their hood open, letting it fall back. Their hair matted and unwashed. “No enough,” Kenny groans.

“I can do it,” he insists.

“Yea?” Kenny glares incredulously. “And how’s that rib you cracked last week?”

Tweek blanches, “last week? This isn’t the first time they’re up to this shit, fuckers.”

“It’s fine,” Craig shrugs, clenching his fist.

“Nope, sorry babe,” they reiterate patiently.  “There’s no use in training if you kill yourself.”

Craig sneers haughtily. “I thought I couldn’t die.”

“Not quite,” Kenny saunters over with a cocky swagger. “Demigod, remember? And if you die, boom there goes your humanity.”

“Ok, what does that mean?” He questions as Kenny wraps their arms around his waist.

“You’re not old enough to handle the crazy fuck ton of power that comes with being a deity.” They poke Craig square in the chest, their tone growing dangerous. “So if you think you’ll come out of dying smelling lemony fresh, you have another thing coming.”

“Try me,” Craig sniffs defiantly.

Kenny chuckles mirthlessly. “Try intense psychosis or total amnesia. Everything you’re working towards won’t matter,” Kenny grips his shirt tightly. Tweek can hear their breath hitch “You won’t be you anymore.”

Craig’s eyes soften, he wraps his arms around Kenny. Tweek can’t make out his expression, but his shoulders slump in surrender. “Ok, I’ll be more careful.”

“Good,” Kenny wipes their left eye. They chuckle to diffuse the tension. “Wouldn’t want you to die before Tweek hands your ass to you.”

"Don’t remind me,” he deadpans. “I already feel like shit. He probably hates me.”

Kenny rolls their eyes, “then go talk to him, doofus.” They admonish.

“And say what?” He challenges. “I’m sorry I won’t talk to you but every second I’m around you I’m scarred of murdering you?”

Kenny hums, “that’s a good start. Honest.”

“Morbid, that’s more like it” Tweek hisses quietly.

“He doesn’t need another thing to worry about, Ken,” Craig concedes. “He deserves better than this.”

“Better than what?” Kenny shakes him sternly. “His boyfriend risking life and limb to keep us safe? You bastard,” they mock.

Craig’s cheek burn with frustration. He bites back the instinct to insult Kenny. Instead, he takes a deep breath. “Better than dealing with a freak like me.”

“Because a demonic zombie and a magical boy are normal?” Kenny argues.

Craig groans, clenching his fists as he glares at a tree about Kenny’s sight line.

“What’s the problem? Really?” They push, “are you scarred that he won’t love you?”

Craig huffs, lowering his gaze to Kenny.

Tweek sees Kenny’s determination crumble with their stance. They lean into Craig, reaching up they cradle his head tenderly. “What is it?”

“I can’t just save him from hell, can I?” Craig rasps, his voice just loud enough to carry like a whisper to Tweek.

“No” Kenny admits.

“He’ll be stuck with me,” he concludes. “Forever.”

Oh, Tweek thinks. Maybe Craig wasn’t avoiding the situation because it was easier. Maybe he was scarred of what Tweek would say. Tweek’s reminded of why they failed the first time. While Tweek gets too caught up in his own shit, Craig doesn’t believe his problems are real.

“Don’t you dare talk like that, Tucker,” Kenny snaps. Their vigor renewed, “you don’t get to decide how other people feel. Got it?”

Craig quirks a half-heartened smile, “got it, buddy.”

Tweek slips away in stealth. Resolved to let Craig come to him in his own time.

 

* * *

 

On an average Tuesday in November, Bebe Stevens is still at school at nine pm. It’s in fact not that average of a day (or that rare of an occasion). She’s the stage manager for her school’s production of _Thoroughly Modern Millie_ and they were opening in a week. As always, she feels overwhelmed and under prepared. Despite how much progress has been made by the cast, crew, and orchestra. Everyone but the student director, Jimmy Valmer, and Red have gone home. Red’s going over last minute notes for her role as Millie, and Bebe can’t keep her eyes off her. Sometimes it’s a little surreal that she’s in love with some who’s loves her back.  

It had been excruciating getting over Wendy. Even if her best friend hadn’t realized her affections, Bebe knew they would’ve been doomed no matter what. She and Wendy were close when they were little. They didn’t have to share interests because they were joined at the hip. The last time they had hung out, sometime around summer before freshman year, they were practically strangers. Wendy wanted to conquer the world. Bebe, on the other hand, was fine with taking her time to learn about herself. She can’t imagine what her life would be like if she had been content to stay in Wendy’s shadow. Always the ‘pretty but dumb one’.  

“Fuck that,” she mutters to herself. She needed to be her own person, and now she was.

The blonde notices Red packing her things. She smiles softly, grabbing her own bag before heading out of the sound booth to meet her.

“You ready?” Bebe offers her hand.

Red nods and accepts bashfully, and damn. No matter how long they were together, Bebe still gave her butterflies.

“Did you get what you wanted from Jimmy?” Bebe asks as she holds the auditorium door open for them.

Red huffs, “not really, I…” She tappers off, deep in contemplation.

“You what?” the shorter refocuses her attention.

“I…I-It’s dumb,” she stutters.

"Hey,” Bebe stops them hallway through the main hall. She turns to Red, caressing her cheek tenderly.  “You can tell me.”

Red groans, caving in. “I suck at ‘Gimme Gimme’.”

 “What?” Bebe blanches. She pulls Red along as they continue towards her car in the student parking lot. “Isn’t that your favorite song?”

“Yep,” Red’s face is crestfallen.

“And it’s the whole reason why we’re doing this musical,” Bebe supplies.

“Pretty much,” her girlfriend stares dejectedly at the sheet music in her other hand.

“But you sounded great during rehearsal,” the blonde counters.

“I sounded fine. But I felt nothing,” Red elaborates.

Bebe sighs, considering the intricacy of the number.  “You don’t feel anything or you don’t feel the internal conflict of the song?”

Red gasps softly. “Fuck, that’s it. You’re a fucking genius you know? You should direct.”

The blonde laughs, unlocking her Rav4. Its blue was as bright as Red’s eyes. Everything about Red was vivacious and uncommonly beautiful.

“No seriously,” Red assured her zealously.  “I love Jimmy, he’s got nothing on you.”

“Thanks, babe,” she smiles somberly.  “Maybe when you get famous you can put me in all your contracts ‘must hire Bebe Stevens in a production capacity’.”

The older sticks her tongue out jovially. “Just watch me,” she remarks proudly,  
“I will.”

Bebe nods to placate her as she pulls out of her spot. They drive for a while with the nothing but the alt rock channel from Denver to keep them company.

Red, on more than on instance, attempts to gather up some much-needed courage. It’s at a stop a few blocks away from her house that she finally (non-too-casually) says “so I ran into Wendy today.”

“Oh yeah?” Bebe tries to keep a neutral face. “What did she want?”

Her reaction calms Red a bit. She shrugs, “to say hi, I guess. She just wanted to catch up…”

“Uh huh,” Bebe snorts.

“What?” she feigns ignorance. Red wants to keep the conversation civil, but sometimes Bebe can be so stubborn.

“She just wanted to say hi, no strings attached.” The sarcasm in Bebe’s voice would be missed by most. It was one of her coping mechanisms when people were too much to handle.

Red flips her off. “She was my friend too you know. Not everything’s about you, Bebe.”

The blonde sighs, “you’re right I’m sorry. I’m just—”

“Completely in love with her?” Red banters harmlessly. She rests her hand on Bebe’s shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze.

Bebe tenses, breaking out into a course laugh. It’s not her normal laugh, Red notes. But it’s the one that comes after so much tension has built up inside Bebe that she’s almost forgotten what happiness is. “Fuck you,” Bebe laughs warmly.

“It’s true!” Red giggles, they were probably the only people who thought to express love in the words ‘fuck you’. “You should talk to her.”

“And ride off into the sunset without you?” the younger jokes.

“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Red kisses her cheek as Bebe pulls into Red’s driveway. “Anyone you date is going to have to accept that we’re a package deal.”

“I love you,” Bebe hums happily. “You know that?”

“I love you too,” the taller’s voice spills into Bebe’s ear like warm molasses. Red unbuckles her seatbelt, leaning in for one last peck before getting out of the car. She walks around the car to Bebe’s window, tapping for her to roll it down.

“I’m serious,” Red insists. “Talk to her, figure it out. You’ll be happy you did.”

“I hate when you’re right,” Bebe rolls her eyes half-heartedly.

Driving off into the night, Bebe wonders if it’s possible to love more than one person at once. Red’s polyamorous, and Bebe just wants to see her happy. But is that something she could do for herself? Just date multiple people at once? The two of them had talked about it in the past. Theirs would always be their primary relationship, they decided. But they were open to other people coming along as it happened. Polyamory still was new and strange to Bebe. There was something almost abject about not having to choose. Sort of, she rubs her temple as she continues down the county road.  There was little to see besides lamp posts, trees and the occasional road kill. Poly relationships do involve choice, everyone in it must agree and set their own boundaries. It’s all about consent and communication, Red explained.

“The path of least resistance is still fraught with trials,” she thinks as she turns into her apartment building.

Bebe had been emancipated from her parents a few months back. It was a combination of her parents’ divorce, her father moving to California to start a new life, and her mothers’ inability to cope with it all. She hadn’t heard from her parents in months, but she was happy. She waited tables for Skeeter on weekends, and whenever she needed a break from theatre. After this musical was senior projects before work on the spring play began. Bebe was ready for more shifts, tips, and not-totally-legal bartending gigs. At least being a good flirt with large tits came in handy every now and then.

It could be lonely sometimes, but fortunately, her roommate had become her best friend. Climbing up to her fourth-floor walkup, Bebe thought about researching more scholarships for college. Her dad had offered to pay, but better safe than sorry. Especially if she wanted to go to art school. As she fished for her key in her backpack, Bebe heard a giggling from the other side of the door.

“Wonder what she’s up to,” Bebe asks herself. “Honey, I’m home,” she calls serenely.

“Oh hey roomie,” Marji calls from the living room. Some sitcom is playing softly in the background.

Meanwhile Marjorine is nestled underneath a knitted blanket they made together a year ago. Despite being recently emancipated; it had been a long legal battle for Bebe. She was luckily Marji had offered to take her in.  Most people didn’t even know Marjorine had gotten a place since her own parents’ divorce. Although, that was her own decision. Her mom still lived in town and was happy to receive either of them anytime.

“Hey,” Bebe nods tossing her bag onto her bed. She shuffles to the fridge, grabbing the left overs Marji saved for her. She hears the flushing of the, looking back at Marjorine, she notices a laptop next to hers. “Company?”

“Yep,” Marji affirms meekly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Marj, it’s your place too,” Bebe snorts bemused. “It’s fine.”

She pops the lid of the Tupperware open and slides it into microwave. Just as she starts the time, the shared bathroom opens, revealing Token Black. She hadn’t seen that one coming.  

“Uh, hi, Bebe,” he waves awkwardly, making his way over to the couch.

Bebe clicks her tongue, observing how Token sits as far as he can from Marjorine on the couch despite his laptop being adjacent to hers. He’s intimidated by Bebe’s presence, cute.

“And clearly, this is none of my business,” Bebe rolls her eyes.

“Like I said,” Marji frowns. “I hope it’s ok.”

“Yep,” she assures her quickly. “I have no literally qualms. Zero.”

“Alright,” her roommate eyes her wearily. “We can study in my room.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Bebe brushes her concerns aside. “I have a hot date with some flashcards and this lovely dinner. Thanks again for saving me some.”

“My pleasure, hun,” Marjorine preens.  

“I gotcha for lunch tomorrow, alright?” Bebe grabs her food out of the microwave, snatching a clean fork from the dish rack.

“Aw you don’t ha—”

“No buts,” she insists. “Have fun, and Token?”

“Yeah?”  his stare is both incredulous and fearful.

He makes it too easy to mess with him. She licks her lips seductively.

“Don’t make me use my shotgun,” Bebe winks. Closing the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know what song is referenced in the chapter titles, you get a cookie. No cheating.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated. I'm on tumblr as abominableobriens


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